


Hands

by captainhurricane



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: (briefly) - Freeform, Anal Fingering, Established Relationship, Hand & Finger Kink, M/M, Wire Play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-20
Updated: 2019-01-20
Packaged: 2019-10-13 07:16:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,955
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17483642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/captainhurricane/pseuds/captainhurricane
Summary: Connor has a thing.





	Hands

**Author's Note:**

> my second time writing these two and... it's porny. of course.

36 and counting.

 

The number of things that Connor likes - no, loves - about Hank. While Connor’s days as an obedient machine fade into a past humans can’t remember but he can, his days as a deviant stretch longer and longer into the future he can’t quite comprehend. 

 

With Hank, anything seems possible. 

 

Connor loves the way Hank’s nose wrinkles when Connor samples blood. Connor loves the way Hank’s shirts at home are all rumpled and faded, with obscure band logos Connor can’t scan. Connor loves the rise and fall of Hank’s chest when he sleeps. Connor loves the softness of Hank’s tummy, loves the blush and the eyeroll that follows when Connor compliments him on it. 

 

Connor loves - it’s a wonder, that he can. He examines the feeling inside of himself for so long, the way his internal temperature raises by 20% every time Hank smiles at him, that crooked, sarcastic little smile. The way Connor’s thirium pump seems to pump faster, just because Hank squeezed his shoulder. 

 

Connor had kissed Hank out of necessity to examine that feeling further, had climbed into his bed multiple times, every night, all nights to listen to a heartbeat Connor doesn’t have.

 

36 and counting. The number of ways Connor has let himself melt against his partner turned companion turned friend turned lover. The number of ways Hank has held him tight, gasped and groaned and finally, laughed, genuinely, wonderfully when they had climaxed together. For Hank, Connor had discovered the joys of having interchangeable genitalia. 

 

36 and counting. The number of times Connor had let one of his little infatuations slide, hadn’t told Hank how utterly, wonderfully distracting Connor finds his hands. 

 

Well, it’s not like Hank doesn’t know that Connor likes his hands - just not to what extent. Connor often finds himself stopping his own work in favour of watching Hank do his. Hank is quick with his computer screen, brow often furrowed, sometimes mumbling little things under his breath. Hank’s hands, big and broad, dusting of hair on his palms, swipe through files, sometimes browse through physical ones. Sometimes Hank taps his finger on his own lips or strokes his beard and Connor twitches, his own fingers curling into fists, his wires seemingly twisting and turning like actual guts. 

 

Of course, because Hank is Hank, he does notice in the end.

 

It’s over the dining table, when Connor meekly sips at a thirium cocktail and Hank pushes the meatballs on his plate from side to side. It’s then when Hank finally puts down his fork and knife and squints at Connor.

 

“You keep staring at me.” His little smile is as crooked as ever. 

Connor bites his lip. Hank’s hands are folded under his chin. “Your hands,” Connor says. He swallows hard. “You … “ the intricate machinery keeping him going whirrs, grows warmer. “I can’t stop thinking about your hands.” His shoulders slump now that these words out. 

 

“My… hands?” Hank blinks. He frowns at his hands, turning them around like looking for faults. Oh, Hank. Always thinking the worst of himself. 

 

Connor gets up in a hurry, walks around the table, gets down on his knees. He takes Hank’s hands between his own and squeezes. His internal temperature continues to raise, one percent at a time. He licks his lips again. “I have many things that I - I favour about you, Hank. But your hands are distracting.” Connor inhales, looks up.

Hank is looking down, one brow raised, lips parted. Connor doesn’t have to scan him, doesn’t even have to look that closely to know what the sight of Connor on his knees does to Hank. 

 

“Not just when you play… with my wires. Or the rest of me. But always.” Connor presses his lips to bumpy knuckles, the tip of his tongue flicking over skin, his insides burning with the taste and smell of Hank, just Hank. 

 

Hank shifts his thighs apart, Connor shifts closer, nuzzles against those warm, broad hands. 

“You - you’ve been holding out on me, sweetheart,” Hank murmurs. He slips one of his hands out of Connor’s grasp in favour of stroking Connor’s hair. “Distracting, huh?” 

 

Connor nods. Those big hands cup his face and Connor sighs, pleased. He nuzzles against the big, warm palm, flicks his tongue against it again. “All of you is perfect to me,” Connor murmurs. “But your hands - they’re a protector’s hands.” He smiles, more to himself than Hank but Hank gasps anyway. Connor presses kisses to each palm, wraps his lips around a fingertip. “These hands take care of me.”

 

Hank gulps, audibly. “Con, you - “

 

Connor takes one thick, hairy wrist between his hands and brings those curled fingers to his lips. One fingertip, two fingertips. Connor licks them both, gently suckles them, moans, pleased, when they press against his sensitive tongue. He quickly shoves away the notifications about the texture and taste that pop up, intent on focusing on feeling. He takes the fingers deeper, the corners of his plush mouth tilting up when Hank pushes them deeper. 

 

“Fuck,” Hank groans. “You look good like that, sweetheart, really good.” 

 

Connor merely hums. He gladly takes a third finger, gladly plays with those thick, calloused fingers with a wet tongue and soft lips. He shifts on the floor, spreads his thighs. He’s got a cock on, after all, and thirium is flooding into it, making it harder and harder. 

 

Connor lets Hank’s fingers go and smiles up at him, bright. 

 

Hank murmurs another fuck and drags him up for a proper, long kiss. Connor lets it go on but pulls Hank up. 

“Dinner - “ Hank protests, half-heartedly but he chuckles against Connor’s lips. “You’re ridiculous,” Hank mutters and slips his hand under Connor’s shirt. 

“Bed,” Connor murmurs in turn and nuzzles Hank’s cheek. 

 

If Connor had never - if he had never let himself doubt, feel, think, want. He would be missing all of this. He wouldn’t know how warm Hank can be, how those rough detective’s hands can be brutal on him, in him. Connor would never know how gentle Hank can be too: like now that he leads Connor to the bedroom and push the door closed behind them. 

 

Connor shoves him to the bed and straddles him, endlessly eager and relentlessly hungry for more. Hank is startled into another chuckle when Connor makes quick work on both of their shirts and kisses him, kisses and kisses and kisses. 

“You’re going to be the death of me someday, baby boy,” Hank murmurs, sweeter than usual. He licks his own lips as he slips three fingers into Connor’s mouth. “My hands do look good on you.” 

Connor grins and then begins to suck. He rocks into Hank’s clothed cock at the same time, lets his eyes flutter closed as he sucks and licks and lavishes love on those beloved fingers. 

 

Hank is holding him tight, so tight, even then when he cups Connor’s face, brushes his thumbs on Connor’s lip. “What do you want, baby boy?” 

 

Connor whines. His pants are undone, his chest heaving, warm to the touch. He tries to suck those delicious, thick calloused thumbs but Hank merely pulls them back. “Want my fingers?” 

Connor nods. 

Hank’s eyes look impossibly dark. The dark hair on his chest fades into gorgeous, charming silver. Connor knows how it feels. “And how do you want them?” 

 

Connor whines again. “In me. Right here.” He guides Hank’s hand to his neck, to the little port there meant for anything but this. “And - “ Connor guides Hank’s other hand to the half-opened pants, to the curve of Connor’s ass. 

 

“I take back what I said earlier,” Hank murmurs, teases the arch of Connor’s neck with his lips, the little neck port sliding open with a hiss. “You make me feel young again, baby boy. Your desire for me makes me feel like a fucking king.” 

 

Connor whimpers. He tries to tug off his pants but doing so would mean getting off his beloved’s lap. So instead he ruts against Hank, slides his hands down Hank’s big, hairy chest to his nipples. He tugs, makes Hank jolt, bite down on Connor’s neck. 

Connor throbs, his cock peeking out, flushed and pink, from his pants. But it goes neglected, as Hank slides two fingers into the neck port, into the thin blue wires, straight into Connor’s core. Connor clutches Hank’s shoulders, his hair, wherever he can reach. 

“What a good boy you are, love,” Hank murmurs. “Always so fucking good with me.” He’s always been a multitasker when he puts his mind to it, so it’s no problem at all to rub against Connor’s wires, to rub against that sensuous little pucker between peachy asscheeks. Hank leaves kisses where he can, laughs when dribbles of Connor’s own artificial lubricant leave his fingers wet. “Always so wet for me,” Hank murmurs, lets his lips linger on Connor’s neck. 

 

“Hank,” Connor whines and pushes his ass against Hank’s hand, jolts when Hank’s other hand rubs his wires the right way, the little neck port throbbing with the thump-thump-thump of Connor’s artificial heart. 

 

“Love you, Con,” Hank murmurs and slides his fingers home into Connor’s ass. 

 

Connor’s voice buzzes with static when he comes, his fingers leaving faint marks on Hank’s skin. Connor nuzzles Hank’s beard, kisses his nose, whines when Hank withdraws his fingers. “Let me,” Connor mumbles and nudges Hank further up the bed, discards both of their pants. Hank is smiling at him, panting softly when Connor takes those big, wet hands between his own and begins the task of cleaning them. 

 

Hank lays on his back, his thick biceps straining as he helps Connor lay on him. “Don’t forget about me, baby,” Hank says, presses his fingers down Connor’s wet, hot tongue. “Can I?” Hank thrusts up, once, twice, cock still throbbing and thick. 

 

Connor looks at him, pupils blown wide, pretty mouth stretched around thick fingers. Connor nods, gives a particularly long, sensuous lick to Hank’s rough palm and throbs and throbs and throbs, grows warmer, harder. He blindly reaches behind himself to help his descent down onto Hank’s waiting cock, doesn’t quite get it right, whines so pitifully that Hank kisses him on the corner of his mouth, kisses his warm cheeks and calls him beautiful, tells him he loves him again, again. 

 

Finally Connor sinks down on Hank, moans out loud as he does. Hank gently withdraws his fingers and cups Connor’s face again. “Stick out your tongue, darling.” Rough, rough thumbs tickle the corners of Connor’s mouth. 

 

“H-Hank,” he stutters, whimpers, fucks himself down when Hank thrusts up. Connor knows what he looks like in the throes of pleasure and knows what Hank looks like when Hank wants, desires, needs. Connor sticks out his tongue, still dripping with lubricant, but it’s clean, all clean and he gets himself an open-mouthed, filthy kiss in reward. 

 

Connor guides Hank’s hands to his neck once more, one to wrap around his throat, makeshift asphyxiation, one to once more finger the soft, warm little neck port that pulses. Connor comes like that, head thrown back, body arching, hands squeezing Hank’s chest. Hank comes like that, squeezing, thrusting, panting and eyes pitch-black with desire. Connor is careful not to flop down and crush his boyfriend, but nuzzles against him still after sliding off his cock. 

 

“So - what other kinks have you been hiding from me, Con?” Hank murmurs, his fingertips causing pleasant shivers as they play on Connor’s bare skin, the synthetic skin rippling in parts to reveal the smooth white underneath. 

“That is the only one to my knowledge,” Connor murmurs right back. 

 

He still does a quick little Google search. 

 

There may be some things he wants to try. 

**Author's Note:**

> hank anderson (and thus, clancy brown) is a sexy sexy man with a big tummy and big biceps and i will fight anyone who says otherwise


End file.
